


open the door and if you're ready you'll see

by nisakomi



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely Junhui falls sick to the classic post-exam time cold. Of course, someone is there to nurse his body and heart back to good health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	open the door and if you're ready you'll see

The day of his last exam in second year university, Junhui missed six calls from Soonyoung, the guy he met on his first day of high school in Korea. 

In the morning, the ring of his alarm brought him to consciousness slowly, instead of startling him awake like it normally did. It had only been three hours since his head first hit the pillow, and there was nothing he longed for more than turning the alarm off and going back to dreamland. He didn’t snooze. Instead, he’d used his arms to push his body into a sitting position to face the quiet loneliness of his apartment. His tongue ran along his top teeth, and Junhui grimaced at the layer of grime covering them. The roll he did to get out off the mattress was slow, and he flung the covers to the side without any thoughts of making his bed. 

The floorboards were freezing, and his toes were numb. When he managed to shuffle his feet into a pair of slippers and was in an upright position, he rubbed his face and finally opened his eyes. Everything was shadowed, splotches of vague dark purple and blue shapes, but the sliver of light let in between the curtains behind him reflected off the pale walls and blinded him. He blinked, used the palms of his hands to get rid of the sleep still in his eyes, and then lifted them to press against his temples, trying to massage away the migraine. 

No relief was forthcoming, but then, Junhui had grown used to the ache between his eyes and wasn’t expecting much. He stretched, stumbling over sweaters and pairs of jeans strewn all over the floor between his dresser and the bed. 

At least no one could see the mess. Junhui never brought anyone to his tiny apartment, hadn’t ever let anyone visit since he moved in. It was his own space, after being left in Korea by his parents during high school. “It’s a better opportunity than what China can offer you,” they said, “and we’ll pay for everything.” Initially his reluctance had been because he didn’t want anyone asking how he could afford his own place, not when he still couldn’t talk about living alone without choking up. He was a university student now, and everyone lived alone, but the apartment still felt like somewhere he couldn’t bring others.

The last time the place was still orderly had been when he called his mother a month ago, walking around with the front-facing camera to show both his face and the spotless room. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself,” his mom had said, and Junhui had pretended not to be crying. The fuzziness on the screen from internet connection and pixelated phone camera that hid the dark bags under his eyes also blurred the tears that escaped. Nothing hid the redness, but neither of them mentioned that. 

God, he missed her. 

But there wasn’t time to think about her, nor the fact that he had missed Fengjun’s birthday again. His little brother had been growing so quickly, and had been growing up alone, without Junhui around to play the big brother role. The last time they saw each other must’ve been a year ago. Fengjun would be unrecognizable now. Junhui had better WeChat to wish him well as soon as his room was clean. 

_I’ll clean up as soon as I get back_ , he told himself, on the way to the bathroom to wash his face. He’d been telling himself that ever since exam season had started. He took a deep breath.

 _The hypothalamus produces corticotrophin releasing hormone targeted to the anterior pituitary, which sends adrenocorticotropic hormone to stimulate the adrenal glands in order to produce and release cortisol_ , Junhui chanted while brushing his teeth, _The Yerkes-Dodson Law states that for simple tasks, greater arousal elicits better performance until performance reaches a plateau. For difficult tasks, a medium amount of stress elicits strongest performance, with heightened stress, anxiety, or arousal leading to deficits in executive function and control_. 

The face that looked back at him in the mirror was gaunt and haunted looking. The skin there was shadowy, with blotches of discolouration, and his hair was a greasy mess. He leaned his arms on the counter and sighed, before dropping his head and shaking it. 

He changed out of his pyjamas after turning on the coffee maker, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that hadn’t been washed in weeks, and a sweater that was at least two sizes to big for him. Junhui shivered, and wrapped a thick knitted scarf around his neck before putting on his coat. It was still too cold inside the apartment. It wasn’t just that the temperature was too low; everything was so empty, stony walls and dark corners. 

_Decisions…decision-making deficits…inhibitions...Something about corticosterone and impairment of decision-making skills…_ He frowned at the sock he was pulling on, squeezed his eyes shut to picture that page of notes in his head again. It was mentioned in the textbook too, so it would definitely be on the test. He imagined the diagram of the nervous system responses he had drawn out, and the words swam, moving in circular patterns and winking at him before disappearing. 

The piping hot coffee scalded the roof of his mouth as he chugged it down, but the words in his head started focusing after that, and he yanked on his backpack. Keys. Phone. Pens. There wasn’t anymore leftover rice in the cooker, nor bread. In fact, his refrigerator and pantry were almost completely empty. The coffee would get him through the next few hours and then he could come home and cook himself a feast to eat. 

Later, all of these things he could do later. As soon as this exam was over, he would do everything that had been piling up. As soon as this exam was over, he was going to sleep and eat and clean his room and call his family so they wouldn’t be worried about him. Just one more three-hour sitting. 

Whatever his path from apartment to exam room was, Junhui didn’t remember it. If he saw any familiar faces, he didn’t remember them. His mind was a white page, covered in nothing but scribbles about learning and memory floating from corner to corner, edge to edge. A voice called out to him: just another step. One foot in front of the other. There’s the door, open it. Sit down. Take out your pencil. Write your name and student number. He didn’t recognize the voice as his own.

His exam happened in a blur. Junhui regurgitated the contents of his brain onto the paper, dredging the knowledge of neural markers and circuits and protein activation pathways, leaving no detail behind. When he finished, his mind really was blank. Everything had been sucked out of him, all his thoughts, feelings, energy. He tripped over his own feet getting up to leave. 

The seventh ring of his cellphone was what woke him up. Rarely did anyone call him, and he had only given his phone number to a few people. He shivered with his head beneath the covers, body curled up into a ball, and feet held close to his body for warmth. His arm splayed out to grab and answer the phone, pulling it back under the covers with him, but when he opened his mouth he finally noticed the searing pain. Where the rest of him felt like ice, his throat felt like it was on fire. He croaked hoarsely, other hand coming up to scratch at his neck where it met the dip of his collarbones. The movements required too much energy from him, and exhaustion hit before he even heard the voice on the other end. 

Knocking. Hushed voices. Louder voices. Rustling.

Cold metal pressed against his lips, as a lukewarm liquid passed into his mouth. He swallowed, and nearly choked from the agony. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” was whispered into his ear. 

A hand patted his shoulder, and then the spoon was back, feeding him something that left a bitter herbal taste on his tongue. He tasted chicken, and ginseng, and lost consciousness once more. 

The next time he woke, Junhui managed to squint from his eyes. It was light, and he recognized his bed. There were two blankets tucked around his body, and a glass of water was being pushed into his hand. He briefly wondered who it could be. His arm was guided toward him, and he drank, letting it smooth his cracked lips. When he finished he made a low gurgling noise, trying to clear his throat and the ache that had only somewhat subsided. The cup was removed from his hands and replaced by something small and round. Fingers encircled his own to bring it into his mouth. Junhui knew that taste. It was—.

His head was pushed back down and sleep overcame him easily.

It was dark again when he came to. Hair was plastered to his forehead like he’d been sweating from running a marathon. It took him a few tried to open his eyes fully, and when he finally managed, he glanced around the room. Someone was sitting beside him, reading a book. 

“It hurts,” he rasped. 

“I know.” Long, thin, fingers pressed against his forehead, a cool oasis. “Your fever’s gone down though, so you’ll be okay.” 

Junhui choked on his next words, coughing them out airily. “How long have I been out?”

A snort. “Don’t be dramatic, you weren't dying. It's only been about a day since you finished your exams.” 

Right, he had finished finals. There were so many things he was supposed to do now, clean his room, call his mother, meet up with the guys he said he’d meet up with for drinks. Junhui jerked upright.

“You had us worried for bit, though, when your fever broke 40 degrees. Soonyoung got mad at me for not letting anyone give you fever suppressants.”

There was a scuffle of a chair being pushed back, and the sound of feet pattering across the floor.

“Fever suppressants…bad…fever kills bacteria,” Junhui managed slowly. He accepted the hot mug placed in his hand with a bowed head, and breathed in the scent of honey and lemon. The sound of a deep laugh resounded in Junhui’s ears. Everything felt warm; the apartment was flooded with yellow and orange light. 

“Of course. Open your eyes Junhui-ya.” They were open. Junhui blinked and his vision cleared. “I know, of course I know.” 

“Wonwoo-ssi,” Junhui managed. A synapse fired in his brain. “Minghao was here. Minghao’s the only person I've told about those cough candies. Minghao…don’t let him tell his mom. She’ll tell my mom and then I’ll get yelled at.” 

“Of course,” Wonwoo agreed easily, “I’ll just make you call your mother and tell her you were sick yourself.” 

Junhui tried to laugh, but it came out a series of dry coughs. He slunk down a little, sipping on his drink. “Thanks,” he whispered. Not for forcing him to talk to his mother but for—.

“I got it, don’t push yourself. I can’t believe you know to let a fever run its course, but still managed to so thoroughly drain yourself physically. You study this. Why didn’t you tell any of us how stressed you were?” 

Junhui shook his head. “I survived. I would have survived regardless. I didn’t mean to get sick.” 

“I know.” The mug was gently removed from his hand. 

“Why do you know so much about me?” Junhui quipped, getting a handle back on his voice. “Also, don’t you have exams to write?”

“My last one was the same time as you, don’t you remember?” Wonwoo got up, stretched, and left again. 

There was something in Junhui’s memory that was niggling incessantly at him. He reached for it. 

“Wait,” he said. “Some people wanted to celebrate finishing the school year. Of the people I knew, we were the last ones to finish. Those guys had made plans…” 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said on his return. He was walking slowly with a half-filled bowl of stew and a large metal spoon, careful not to spill anything. “And you had agreed to go. That’s why Soonyoung got so frantic about you not picking up the phone. Although, Jihoon was pretty worried too when he saw you. Worried enough to make Mingyu bring food, anyway. They’ve all been by to visit of course.” 

Junhui spooned up mouthful of tofu, soup, and rice. Mingyu was the only person he knew in Korea who could cook. None of Mingyu’s friends bothered learning since they all let him do the work. 

Junhui could cook. 

"How’d you get in?” This was Junhui's place to be alone. 

“Through the front door.” 

Junhui ate some more, and waited for a serious answer. 

“You gave Soonyoung a key last year to make sure none of your plants died while you went home for new year’s.” That was right. Junhui’s mom had insisted he ask someone to pick up his mail so no one robbed him while he was gone. Junhui had offered Soonyoung money, but Soonyoung hadn’t taken it. Soonyoung was a kind person. 

He ate in silence for a while after that, feeling every mouthful restore his energy. It was nice to know someone else studying medical sciences in times like these. It was nice to know people who could cook, who brought him the only cough drops that ever worked, who worried when he didn’t show up for something. Junhui made to get up as soon as he was finished, but was elbowed back down into a sitting position.

“Let me,” Wonwoo said gently.

“No, it’s fine, I’m okay now. It’s very nice of you—” Wonwoo interrupted Junhui’s spiel by taking the bowl and the spoon from Junhui’s grasp and leaving again to put them away. 

Junhui surveyed the room while he was gone, noting the clothing that was in a hamper instead of covering the ground. He was also wearing pyjamas, and the sweatpants he had been wearing to the exam centre were on the top of the laundry pile.

“Was I in the right state of mind to change into pyjamas when I got back?” Junhui asked when Wonwoo came back. And he had come back, for the third time, maybe the fourth. Junhui blinked. 

“Of course not.” There was no elaboration. 

Junhui drew his knees in towards his body and wiggled restlessly on the bed. Wonwoo had picked his book back up and was studying him quietly. Junhui waited.

His eyes widened in alarm and his head popped up when Wonwoo sat back down in the chair by the bed to read. 

Wonwoo blinked at him, startled by the sharp movement. He tilted his head to the side, looked down at his book, looked up at Junhui and spread his hands out. “What?”

Junhui looked at him and then looked down at the book. He said nothing. Very briefly, his eyes flickered to the hall, before returning his gaze to Wonwoo’s chair. He shrugged. “I said I was fine. I’m one hundred percent okay to be on my own now…So…” He shrugged again. “You can go, seriously, you don’t need to do all these nice things. Really, I’m fine.” 

“Nice? Are you kidding me?” Wonwoo shut the book closed. “I didn’t let Soonyoung yell at me about things he doesn’t understand to be ‘nice’. Soonyoung didn’t screech at everyone or drive over here at illegal speeds because he’s ‘nice’. Jihoon wasn’t trying to hide his concern out of ‘niceness’. We did it because we’re your friends!” 

Junhui looked down. “Are we friends?” His voice was quiet, and contained no hints of bitterness, just confusion. 

Wonwoo put the book down. He looked at Junhui out of the side of his eye. His face was in its normal resting expression, with the corners of lips lifted up slightly. Wonwoo blinked slowly. “For someone who gets way too close to people physically, you’re really bad at letting people in. Are you allergic to the word ‘friend’? With you it’s always ‘I’m familiar with so and so’, or ‘the other people I talk to’. We’ve known each other for, what, four years now? You say you’re close to Soonyoung and Minghao but you still don’t call them ‘friends’. What do we have to do to make you think of us that way?” 

He bent his head forward, elbows on his thighs, and stared between his knees. He sighed. His hands came up to rub at his face, before running through his hair and pulling it back. When Wonwoo looked up again, Junhui was staring at him with something that looked a little like fear.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I do think we’re close too!” Junhui said hurriedly.

“I’m not mad. It’s just, you can say you’re close to us. But you don’t let us get close to you." Wonwoo sighed. "Never mind, it’s fine. I’ll go. There’s still soup and stuff on the stove.” He fixed his bangs, and picked up his book slowly, standing without looking at Junhui once. He shoved the hand not holding anything into the pocket of his letterman. He sighed again. With the book, he waved at Junhui half-heartedly. 

“Wonwoo-ssi!” Junhui called after a few moments, throwing off the covers and sitting at the edge of the bed. Staring at Wonwoo's retreating back, he was struck by the cold. He shivered as it coursed through him, filling his heart, and sinking into his toes. 

Wonwoo stopped and turned around. “Yes, Junhui- _ah_ ”, he said pointedly. His voice was low, whether from the distance or just because he was speaking quietly, Junhui didn't know.

Junhui opened and closed his mouth. “Wonwoo-ya,” he struggled to make out finally. Wonwoo waited. 

“Can you,” Junhui’s voice wobbled. He swallowed. “Uh, stay?” He squirmed. A beat. 

Two beats.

Wonwoo's eyebrows lifted and he held his eyes widened for a moment. “Of course.” 

The smile Junhui received sent his heart beat racing. The hug that came afterward was brief, but made it seem like his heart was going to jump straight out of his chest. 

Junhui didn’t know what possessed him to kiss Wonwoo on the cheek, but he immediately regretted it. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, it’s just everyone always leaves but you kept coming back and now you’re staying and it’s the corticosterone, excess cortisol impairs decision-making abilities.” He trailed off, watching Wonwoo, who said nothing but had gotten up and manoeuvred around to the other side of the bed. 

Wonwoo unzipped his letterman jacket as he walked, and shrugged it off to leave on the chair. Junhui was silent and still while Wonwoo toed off his socks and then slid into bed beside him, flipping open the book and holding it with one hand, the other held against the wall as a headrest. 

“If you’re still so stressed you should go back to sleep, we can talk later,” Wonwoo said without inflection in his voice. He turned the page. 

“Will you still be here?” Junhui whispered. 

Wonwoo didn’t look at him. “I’ve stayed for this long, and I’m telling you for your own good, that sitting with someone for 30 hours while they're unconscious is definitely more than what normal friends do, okay? Do you see anyone else still here?” 

Junhui nodded meekly, and pulled the covers over his head. He felt the vibrations of Wonwoo’s laughter through the mattress from the tips of his toes to the tops of his ears. The covers were lifted off his face and a hand pulled him over. 

Just over a day after his last exam in second year university, Junhui kissed Wonwoo, and fell asleep on his very bony shoulder. 

In the morning, his alarm didn’t ring to startle him awake like it normally did. Half his face was still pressed into a pillow when he felt soft lips brush against his forehead, bringing him to consciousness slowly. Junhui considered going back to sleep. He didn’t snooze. He circled his arms around the slim waist of the man who was kissing him and felt lean arms hugging him back. The apartment was quiet. However, the loneliness – Wonwoo had shown that feeling the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently sitting on three fics that have proven very difficult to coax out. I needed to write the meta and this...thing, whatever it is, just to not go stir crazy ahead of exams. One day I'll write true getting together or established relationship fic instead of these neither/nor pieces, I promise.


End file.
